


Light a match, ignite a bomb

by SiwgrGalon



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Connor's past keeps haunting him, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of homophobia, Panic Attack, Supportive Relationship, Swearing, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Overall, in his entirety in the form of a human boy (man, he thinks, although he doesn’t feel very manly right now) the panic has left Connor tender, like a not-quite-fresh-but-also-not-old wound; the kind that still throbs, softly, but gives you that weird pleasure-pain when you poke it. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Connor has demons. Kevin knows that. And as he's faced with one of them, in the middle of New York City and completely out of the blue, there's a lot to be learned for both of them. </p><p>For Kevin, it's the fact that sometimes, even the seemingly smallest thing - like meeting an old acquaintance - can have repercussions you never expected. At the same time, Connor faces the hard facts: sometimes, being well doesn't mean being without fault or problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light a match, ignite a bomb

**Author's Note:**

> Or how I endeavoured to have this done for mental health week, failed and instead angsted all over the place. 
> 
> Also, I genuinely don't know how to summarize this apart from '9000 words of angst (with some fluff to make you feel safe before it hits)'. 
> 
> To be safe: TW for anxiety/panic attacks, mentions of a suicide attempt and depression. There's also bit of homophobia ahead, which pained me to write, but felt 'right' (ugh, never thought I'd use those two words in one sentence) in the context.

Hanging low in the sky, the sun douses everything in a golden light as the Subway rumbles along the tracks, crossing the East River into Manhattan. 

Connor can’t help but let a quiet, happy sigh escape as he lets his head drop onto his boyfriend’s shoulder. Tightening the arm he’s casually slung around Connor’s waist, a quiet chuckle rumbles through Kevin as he turns his head. 

It’s a bit of a stretch, quite literally, but he somehow manages to look Connor in the eyes. 

‘Happy?’ 

He only needs to look at Connor’s face, a soft smile playing around his lips, to know the answer. 

‘Very happy, indeed,’ comes the reply, content evident in every syllable. 

Connor’s voice is low, partly because he’s mindful of his proximity to Kevin’s ear and partly because it’s been a long day; the younger man can tell his boyfriend is slowly running out of steam.

‘It was a lovely day and it was all the better considering I got to spend it with you,' Connor continues. He knows it’s a bit soppy, but they’re both suckers for the small things – like cheesy lines – rather than the grand gestures.

(Although Connor definitely wouldn’t say no to a grand proposal. He’d prefer it small and intimate, sure, but the theatre kid in him just loves the glitz and drama of Kevin publicly asking for his hand in marriage. If he ever will – but oh, one can dream.)

In a bid to make the most of the early summer gracing New York City, the couple had made their way out to Brooklyn just before lunchtime. Armed with a large towel, books and an improvised picnic, they’d set off for a day at Brighton Beach, just lounging in the sun. 

Lovely is one word to describe it, Connor thinks; borderline perfect is another one coming to his mind. They’d spread out on the towel, Connor covered in SPF 50 to prevent any likeness to a tomato, lying close but not too close to each other, and they’d just enjoyed the sun, each other’s company and the sound of waves breaking against the land. 

Initially using the opportunity to read something non-college related, they had quickly abandoned their literary adventures in favor of more exhausting, albeit definitely less grown-up pursuits. 

As it turned out, Kevin never learned how to do a cartwheel – something Connor (more or less successfully) attempted to change, albeit among fits of laughter brought on by Kevin fussing about sand in his hair. In revenge, the former District Leader very quickly learned to fear Kevin’s athleticism. 

Then again, jeans and socks dry remarkably quick, and it wasn’t as if Connor went in completely. Knee deep had been cold enough. 

The redhead feels his body tingle with the memory of the rather intense kissing session the couple had indulged in afterwards, when Kevin had noted they were nearly alone. 

At first, he had pressed his lips to Connor’s cheek, chaste and sweet and gauging his reaction and comfort level, before Kevin made it his task to kiss his boyfriend breathless. 

Feeling wanted, Connor realized once more, is possibly the most amazing feeling in the world. It makes him feel cherished, and loved, and so, so warm inside, especially paired with the knowledge that Kevin is self-proclaimed head over heels for him.

All Kevin does in response to Connor’s cheesy declaration is hum deep in his chest, while his hand gives the redhead’s side a gentle stroke. 

Although they’re pretty much joined at the hip, and possibly quite obviously a couple to the not-completely-oblivious onlooker, they rarely cuddle up in public – especially not in unfamiliar territory, in a fairly empty Subway car with next to no indicator as to how people may take to a same-sex couple being even just slightly affectionate. 

But sometimes, much to Kevin’s delight, their (read: Connor’s. Kevin is surprisingly gung-ho about many things ever since they left the church, including PDA) guardedness just flies out the window, even outside the bubble of perceived safety Manhattan provides. 

Today, it seems, had been one of those days from the get-go.

Kevin can’t resist making full use of the opportunity, so he presses a quick kiss to Connor’s nose and enjoys the way he scrunches his nose while he smiles, squinting against the sun. 

‘Gosh, just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter,’ the younger man murmurs, transfixed by the sight of his partner’s sun-kissed, freckled face, shining with mirth he is sure they both wear. 

The sound escaping Connor’s lips is an embarrassingly high giggle – but it dies quickly when his eyes catch sight of a profile he’s sure he’s seen somewhere before. 

It takes a moment for him to process where exactly he may have encountered the stranger at the other end of the Subway car, but when it sinks in, it takes everything in Connor – and then some – to not flinch away from Kevin’s touch. 

Instead, the former District Leader raises his head from where it was so comfortably cushioned, sitting up straighter and slowly pushing back his shoulders. 

There’s a tingle at the base of his skull, like thousands of ants crawling along his hairline, and he shivers for a second before telling himself to Turn it Off. It’s probably nothing. A Freudian slip, or whatever they’re called. Deja vu, that’s the word. A deja vu, nothing more. 

Turn it Off. 

_Turn it OFF._

Turn. 

It.

Off. 

Annoying sensation pushed aside, Kevin’s fingers begin to feel like a burning weight, too much to handle at the moment. Placing his hand over Kevin’s, Connor gently, carefully removes it from where it came to rest on his hip, making sure to quickly link their fingers and give a little squeeze before letting go. 

‘What’s wrong?’ 

Everything in Kevin’s voice betrays his confusion and, if Connor isn’t completely going mad and imagining things, hurt. 

He understands, he really does, and he hates rejecting Kevin without an explanation, but there’s no way Connor can tell his boyfriend with any sort of witness nearby. 

‘Nothing,’ is his immediate answer. 

Then, ‘I’ll explain later, when we’re at home. This probably isn’t a conversation we should have in public.’ 

All these cryptic remarks do is peak Kevin’s interest. 

The sudden change in demeanor had been weird enough, but Connor drawing away from Kevin’s affection is even weirder, especially in combination with his short-cut remarks and the absence of any and all warning signs. 

Here he is, Kevin Price, thinking he’s mastered reading Connor, and now he can’t help but worry. 

‘Are you okay? Or will you be okay?’ 

His eyes glued onto a grey-haired stranger, Connor just gives a swift nod, still distracted. There’s a small wrinkle on his forehead; a surefire sign that the older man is concentrating, thinking, deep in his own mind. 

The last time he looked like this, Kevin thinks, was when they were still Elder McKinley and Elder Price to each other, freshly excommunicated, and Connor was frantically trying to raise funds to keep their mission going. 

When the stranger turns, looking directly at the couple, surprise is evident on his slightly wrinkled face before a slow smile stretches his lips. 

Kevin is still none the wiser, the confusion constantly growing. 

He feels Connor inching away, creating some distance between them, but that’s all there is – until a barely audible gasp, followed by a similarly as quiet ‘oh my gosh’ makes Kevin’s head whip around to his right. 

Connor’s eyes are wide, his hand raised as if to cover his mouth, but only two fingers are actually resting on his lips. If it wasn’t for the color suddenly drained from his face, turning his already impossibly pale complexion an unhealthy, greyish shade, Kevin could’ve momentarily mistaken the expression for one of delight. 

It is, quite obviously, the opposite. And he still doesn’t know why, or what to do about it. 

As the stranger rises from his seat, slowly making his way over towards the couple, the former missionary feels himself tense up. He can feel the confusion radiating off Kevin, and it only serves to set Connor more on edge than he already is. 

‘Connor, how lovely to see you here, son – how are you doing,’ the stranger says, his voice friendly enough. 

‘I’m doing very well.’ 

It’s not like Connor to give clipped replies, for fear of being rude, but with the hair at the back of his neck rising up and his palms slowly dampening, he can’t help himself. 

‘Wonderful, wonderful news. Congratulations on completing your mission – your parents must have been so proud. District Leader after just three months,’ the stranger continues. 

‘Of course, the whole stunt your missionaries pulled when they turned the Book of Mormon into a farce must’ve lead to some… discussions, especially with your father, I assume.’ 

Connor just nods, silently. He doesn’t feel like explaining the whole disaster, especially not to this man, but it seems to be a satisfactory answer. 

‘Good, good. He’s a wholesome man, and you’ve always been a good boy, despite your little… problem.’ 

He sighs. 

‘But we got that under control, didn’t we?’ 

By now, Kevin really can’t follow the conversation. The McKinleys– especially Connor’s father – weren’t exactly thrilled with the whole Book of Arnold-story, he knows that much. 

Of course, considering they threw their son out, it’s safe to say they were even less thrilled with the ‘Mum, Dad, I’m gay and you’re not going to change that, because I’m finally happy’-stunt Connor pulled. (Kevin is still proud of him for that.) 

Next to him, Connor is doing his utmost to keep his composure; he doesn’t know how, but for now he manages. 

Their interviewer turns his attention to Kevin, who slightly squares his shoulders in an attempt to offer his boyfriend – who is uncharacteristically, worryingly quiet – some confidence and support. 

‘Oh, but how rude, I haven’t introduced myself to your friend yet. I’m Bishop Meacham.’ 

A hand is thrust into Kevin’s face, and he can’t help but give it a quick shake. So, a Bishop – probably from Connor’s home ward, the younger man thinks, although that still doesn’t explain the redhead’s weird behavior. 

‘Kevin Price, sir,’ he says. 

And then, because he can’t resist (and Kevin hopes Connor won’t hate him for it), ‘Actually, I’m Connor’s partner.’ 

As the words leave the former missionary’s lips, he can see Connor go even more rigid next to him, his hands slowly curling and uncurling. Simultaneously, the Bishop’s face darkens. 

‘Partner meaning boyfriend?’

Kevin nods. 

‘Of four years, yes.’ 

Meacham’s gaze, suddenly a lot harsher, turns back onto Connor. 

‘And we had such high hopes in you, McKinley. Such high hopes.’ 

He shakes his head, the movement slow as if he’s sad. Somehow, Kevin doubts it’s a genuine emotion. 

‘Of course, we always knew there would be the chance of a relapse, but you were so young, and did so well so quickly – we never expected this of you, of all people. 

‘And after excelling in your scripture, too, and as a member of the priesthood. A boyfriend. You turned into a… homosexual,’ Bishop Meacham nearly spits the word.

‘A sodomist, an apostate, after all. It must’ve broken your poor mother’s heart – or are you lying to her, too?’ 

The words hit home, leading Connor to lower his gaze. 

Not out of shame, he could never be ashamed of Kevin, but for a modicum of protection should he do something embarrassing. Like starting to cry. Or hyperventilating. Both feel possible, right now. 

The tingling at the base of his skull is back, too, this time more insistent. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. And is it just him, or did someone turn on the heating on just now? 

In this moment, Connor is back to being eleven years old. Back to Utah. Back to being told he is wrong. Disgusting. A homosexual. An abomination. A mistake. Something Heavenly Father messed up, but don’t worry, we can fix this. 

It won’t hurt (except sometimes it does). 

It won’t leave any damage (except it most definitely does). 

It’ll get your son back on the right track in no time at all, Mrs McKinley, don’t you worry (except it’s all a big fat lie, and real Mormons don’t lie). 

‘I never lied to them,’ Connor manages to press out, hating how weak his voice sounds. 

‘And I haven’t been with the Church for a few years now. In fact, I haven’t spoken to my parents since the first week after I returned and they threw me out.’ 

Bishop Meacham’s retort is quick and, even to Kevin, whose parents have been nothing but supportive since they overcame their initial hesitation and finally met – and fell in love with – Connor, feels like being struck with a whip. Hard.

‘Well, that’s your own fault, son, for deciding to fall for the gay agenda,’ the Bishop retorts. 

‘If you ever decide to atone for your sins, and let go of this wrongness, we’re always here to help.’ 

Something in Connor snaps, breaks, collapses. 

Suddenly, breathing feels impossible, while nausea rises; if he doesn’t do something, the redhead knows it’ll render him immobile, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car speeding towards it, bound by irrational fear. 

‘Can we get off the train, Kevin? Please?’ 

Kevin looks at him, confused. 

‘But this is not our stop…?’ 

For a second, their eyes meet, as Connor grabs his bag. 

‘I’m sorry. I really, really need to get off this train, right now,’ he murmurs, apology evident in his voice. 

He assembles all his might, which at this point is more than meager, to kiss Kevin on the cheek and murmur ‘sorry’ before making a dash for freedom as soon as the train doors open. 

Blood is rushing in his ears, blackness slowly creeping into his vision and his heart is beating three hundred miles an hour, but all Connor can think about is getting away from the train, away from the platform, away from Bishop Meacham.

Whoever said running away doesn’t help has obviously never been truly afraid, Connor thinks, momentarily amused that he’s still able to construct a clear thought. 

Stumped for a second, Kevin looks after him, before turning to the Bishop. 

‘Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted? I don’t know what your history is, but I’ve never seen him like that. And we saw things you couldn’t even imagine while serving in Uganda.’ 

Meacham only smiles, serene as if he didn’t just break the person Kevin loves in front of his eyes. 

It’s the first time ever the former Mormon extraordinaire and prodigy child of the Price family wants to punch someone in the face. 

‘You’re as far away from a Latter Day Saint as it gets,’ Kevin spits. 

‘We’re supposed to help people, be courteous and welcoming to anyone, and not make them feel awful.’ 

Kevin barely makes it off the train and onto the platform in time, his backpack in hand and his eyes immediately scanning the crowds for a familiar head of auburn hair. 

There’s no sign of Connor on the platform or stairs, and neither is he in the ticket hall. On a whim, the younger man turns right outside the exit, against his left-handed instinct, and bingo! 

His elation is short-lived though, because even though there are still a good hundred meters between them, Kevin can tell something must be wrong, which only spurs him into walking faster.

Sitting on the sidewalk, his back barely touching the wall behind him, Connor has abandoned his usually perfect posture. Instead, the young man is hunched over, his head between his knees and his hands buried in fiery locks. 

He can feel the strain his position puts on his already achy muscles, especially his lower back, but Connor feels weirdly distant from his own body. Like he’s watching a stranger. He really, really doesn’t like the feeling. 

At the same time all that exists, right now, is his breath coming in rapid bursts, the sound of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears and the tremors wracking his body. Hot and cold flushes make him sweat one moment and shiver the next. 

The rational part of Connor’s brain knows this is just his own mind playing cruel tricks on him. 

The irrational part, comfortably sprawled in the driver’s seat and drowning out any counterargument, has convinced him he’s going to die, right here, right now, all alone.

Either that, or he’s finally lost his mind. 

It’s costing Connor everything not to break into tears – or throw up, because that feels like a very real possibility right now – but he can’t help the odd sniff escaping. He hasn’t felt like this in years, and quite frankly, he could’ve done without going through all of this ever again. 

‘I don’t want to die.’ 

No one is listening, but saying it out loud just makes his situation feel so much more real. 

His voice is quiet, barely audible, and Connor’s started slightly pulling his hair; whether it’s out of anger or an attempt to ground himself, to use the sensation to get out of his own head, he doesn’t know. 

So caught up in his own mind, the fear holding him captive, Connor doesn’t register much about his surroundings, and as tunnel vision sets in, he’s oblivious to slowly, carefully approaching footsteps. 

‘Hey, Con. Connor? Can you hear me?’

From his place, squatting at Connor’s side, Kevin knows it’s a stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to do. 

He’s never seen or experienced the former District Leader like this and, if he’s completely honest with himself, it scares him. 

Even more so considering there’s no real reaction to his approach, just a repeated murmur of ‘I don’t want to die’, uttered amongst rapid breaths. 

If their roles were reversed, Kevin assumes he’d very much like a hug or some other form of reassurance, so he carefully puts his hand on Connor’s knee. 

The result isn’t quite what the younger man was expecting. A violent flinch shakes his partner’s body, and he draws his legs up higher, hugging them to his chest, as if he’s trying to vanish from this world. 

‘I’m sorry. It’s okay, I’m sorry.’ 

As if surrendering, Kevin raises his hands, open palms turned into Connor’s direction as if he was a spooked animal. 

‘I didn’t mean to scare you. But I don’t know what’s going on, and I need you to snap out of this.’

That gets some reaction out of Connor, even if it’s just one word. 

‘Kevin.’ 

His body relaxes just slightly, but it’s enough for his hands to drop to the floor at his sides. 

‘Yeah, I found you.’ 

Kevin gently smiles, reaching out a hand before he remembers what happened just a minute ago. 

‘Good,’ Connor mumbles, barely audible. 

‘I’m not feeling very well.’ 

_No shit, Sherlock_ , Kevin’s mind helpfully supplies. He doesn’t say anything, though, deciding to just keep his attention on Connor instead of offering snarky commentary of what is clearly a distressing situation. 

That’s when the man in question raises his head, fixing his eyes on the former missionary. 

For a moment, Kevin is taken aback. Connor’s pupils are blown so wide, there is just the tiniest sliver of blue visible. Sweat is glistening on his brow, he is still unhealthily pale and, as his body uncurls, the younger man notices his partner is shaking intermittently.

(The last time Kevin saw Connor’s eyes darken like this, they were both teetering on the brink of an orgasm leaving the couple breathless but immensely satisfied. In fact, Kevin thinks, they both probably passed out for a minute..)

The redhead looks terrified, with his eyes red as if he’d been crying. He swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the lump blocking his throat.

‘I’m not going to make you talk. But I need to ask you some questions. So if talking is too hard, just nod or shake your head, okay?’

Connor nods, mutely, and Kevin’s mind begins to puzzle everything together, his brain starting to run on something akin to autopilot. 

‘Can you stand up?’ 

‘I don’t think so, no. I’m dizzy, and my stomach really hurts.’

Connor’s voice is rough and shaky; he’s speaking slowly, quieter than usual, as if every word takes special care and effort, and his breathing is still far too quick for Kevin’s liking. 

‘No problem, just stay there. Can you stretch your legs for me?’

He can, and after a tiny bit of careful prompting he does, so Kevin carefully moves so his knees are left and right of his boyfriend’s legs, without putting weight on them so Connor can easily dislodge Kevin if he feels the need for more space. 

It’s all about being closer, about offering comfort and closeness. At first, Kevin doesn’t notice how he unconsciously positions himself so as to shield Connor from their surroundings, from further harm and hurt.

‘Is it okay if I sit like this?’

A simple nod.

‘Do you feel like you’ll have to throw up?’ 

Hesitantly, Connor shakes his head. For now, that seems like the right answer, but he’ll have to remember to warn Kevin should that change. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself even further than he already has, with his little… meltdown.

‘Okay. Okay… we can do this.’

 _I can do this. For you. With you_ , Kevin thinks. He may not be in medical school yet, but in the back of his mind he remembers what he learnt at the Missionary Training Center. 

Emergency training had been fairly basic, yes, but someone had been intelligent enough to include some pointers on how to help a fellow human through a panic attack. Now he only has to remember the advice. 

Since leaving his mission, Kevin has never been so thankful for 19-year-old self’s ambition to be the best Mormon to ever walk the Earth. 

‘I’m going to touch you, darling. Let me know if you don’t want that.’ 

When he doesn’t receive any objection, Kevin carefully takes Connor’s hands; worry rises in his chest when he notices how clammy and cold they are. 

‘Hey, I know you’re upset. That’s okay. You have all right to be upset and I am here to help.’

Kevin still isn’t sure whether his boyfriend is quite with him, but he seems to slowly be resurfacing. 

‘But you have to tell me what you need from me. I’m at a loss here, and I need a bit of guidance. ’ 

Seconds pass, but as Connor begins to focus more, Kevin feels his own concern ease just the slightest bit. In an expression of encouragement and support, he gently squeezes the hands he’s holding, before slowly placing his own palms on the redhead’s shoulders.

‘I feel like I’m dying, Kevin.’ 

A single tear finds its way down a ruddy cheek, and Connor knows he’s just lost the fight. 

‘I’m dying and you’re seeing me like this and without Meacham there you would’ve never known how I’m spoiled goods and damaged and crazy.’

It’s as if a dam opened. Even though he desperately wants to, the former District Leader can’t stop himself from talking. The last piece of control is slipping through his fingers at rapid speed.

With each word spilling from his lips, with breathing getting harder and harder again, he can feel himself slip back into the attack, feel the panic overtake and cloud his mind once more. 

‘Because if I’m not dying I’m slowly, slowly losing my mind, and I’m pulling you down with me.’ 

He lowers his head again, unable to meet the other man’s eyes for fear of what he’ll see in them. 

Black spots are starting to dance in front of his eyes; at least there are no further tears. He’s still got that back under control, even though everything else probably doesn’t make all that much sense to Kevin. 

And doesn’t Connor feel guilty for that. 

‘I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want to die alone. Please don’t leave me alone here. You can just leave afterwards if you want, and I can understand if you do, but please, please don’t go now.’

A part of Kevin’s heart, the part firmly reserved for the other man, breaks and his world is momentarily turned upside down.

Normally Connor is the strong one in their relationship. He’s always been, from the moment they met in the sweltering Ugandan heat.

When Kevin freaks out over college assignments, over the amount he has to study and work, when nightmares about the General (few and far in between as they may be, now) haunt him, Connor is always there, with his abundance of energy and freely given affection. 

Studying musical theatre requires just as much skin in the game, the younger man knows; it’s different from trying to get into med school, but by no means easier or worth less. 

Demanding physical work piled atop academic requirements is a whole other can of worms than what Kevin is dealing with on a daily basis. But the former District Leader takes it all in his stride, it seems, always offering to cheer the aspiring doctor up with a witty quip, a shoulder to cry on, and a hug, kiss and cuddle if everything becomes too much. 

He’s mature beyond his years, and although Kevin knows the unpleasant reasons for Connor’s maturity, he can’t help but admire him for it.

Of course there have been times when Kevin has seen him not be strong, has seen Connor when he’s exhausted after hell dreams, high-strung before college auditions and now exams, has seen him in pain, witnessed him cry and doubt himself, but nothing ever had this level of desperation, of hopelessness to it. 

Kevin also knows his boyfriend has been in therapy for depression, before Uganda, before _them_ , but he’s okay now and never mentioned there might have been something else to those sessions, either. 

And he really is fine, Kevin is sure of that. Normally a ray of sunshine even on the cloudiest of days, Connor may be a good actor with lots of talents – but a poker face isn’t one of them. Honestly, he’s an open book around Kevin. Hiding his emotional state from his boyfriend, _the person he lives and sleeps with_ of all people is downright impossible.

‘Okay, stop right there.’ 

Gentle, warm hands land on Connor’s cheeks, framing his face and coaxing the older man to look at Kevin. 

‘Listen, Connor. Listen good, because this is important.’ 

He pours every ounce of conviction into his next words. Considering his feelings for the man cowering across from him, it’s not hard. 

The real challenge is to not let his own fear and desperation show, but Kevin thinks of all the good parts, of everything he loves about his ginger-haired better half: his infectious character. His work ethic. The way he looks just after waking up. How he sometimes tucks his head under Kevin’s chin. His face when he dances. 

His ability to love, unconditionally, and show it through the smallest of gestures, even though his family had been less than kind for a good chunk of Connor’s life.

‘You’re not spoiled goods. You’re not going crazy. I’m not going to leave you, especially not over this.

‘And I know this is really scary right now, but you’re not going to die.’ 

A look of protest crosses Connor’s face, but his objections die as soon as Kevin tenderly runs a hand through copper curls, letting it come to rest on his love’s neck. 

‘I promise. You’ll get through this. You’re always helping me, and now I’m here to keep you safe. I won’t leave, because I adore you. And I’m so, so proud of you.’ 

At this, Kevin leans forward a little, touching his forehead against Connor’s before locking their eyes. 

‘Look at you, being all strong even when you’re struggling. It’ll be over soon. Just hold on, for me. You can do this, Con.’ 

Their breaths mingle, and if it wasn’t for one of them hyperventilating and being near-paralyzed with panic, it could be hopelessly romantic. 

‘Your lips are turning blue,’ Kevin murmurs, his thumb stroking over the redhead’s cheek to be as reassuring as possible. 

‘Let’s get your breathing to slow down. Come on, breathe with me. In – one, two; Out – one, two. Just follow what I’m doing. 

‘In – one, two. Hold for a second. 

‘Out – one, two. 

‘Good. You’re doing so well, Con.’

So they sit there, Connor on the sidewalk and Kevin kneeling over-yet-in-front of him, counting the duration of their breaths. They gradually increase in length, from two beats to four, six, even eight, but that’s the only measure of time they have in this moment, and it’s an unreliable one. 

Somewhere along the way, maybe five, maybe ten minutes in, Kevin asks whether Connor would like a drink of water. The affirmation is instant, and Connor can’t help himself as he takes big (greedy, his mind supplies, so greedy) swigs. 

At some point, the attack left him boiling, and the water doesn’t just help with the feeling of his throat being parched, but also with cooling him down. He sighs in relief as he presses the bottle against his neck, relishing in its lovely, calming coolness. 

There’s a tangible shift in atmosphere as Connor gets his breathing back under control. Tension seeps from his body as reality slowly sinks in, making him close his eyes so he doesn’t have to face the aftermath. 

Only, and that’s a considerable downside, it heightens the slight feeling of otherness, of disorientation, and the queasiness accompanying them. His last… meltdown, attack, call it whatever you want, may have been years ago, but in this moment Connor is struck by how familiar it all is, but how it can still send him reeling. Or is it sending him reeling again? 

Tears are rising, threatening to fall in floods rather than single droplets; he wipes at his face to stop them, maybe a bit harsher than necessary, but it doesn’t do much good. 

Kevin gently grasps his wrists, loosely holding them. 

‘Hey. Are you feeling a bit better?’ 

It’s so innocent, but the worry is so obviously there, written all over Kevin’s face and woven into his voice, that Connor has to hold his breath for a second. He doesn’t know what to answer, his thoughts start racing again, but then he feels himself nod, slowly. 

Yet there’s no hesitation in his movement – it’s simply delayed by the redhead’s body and mind taking stock. 

Some shivers still wrack him, now and then, but the hopelessness of perceived imminent death is wearing off. All that remains is an underlying current of anxiety just waiting to rear its ugly head. 

‘Good,’ Kevin says, but it comes out like more of a breath rather than a full word.

‘Is there anything you need? Any way I can help?’ 

Those puppy dog eyes should be forbidden. The part of Connor that’s madly in love with Kevin can’t resist them, and neither can the part of him yearning for love, acceptance and affection in general. 

It’s too late to stop the words from tumbling out. 

‘Can you just… hold me for a bit? Please?’

Graceful and gorgeous as he is, Kevin softly smiles at his boyfriend before enveloping him in a hug so wonderfully warm and tight Connor instantly feels safe enough for some residual fear to vanish.

He knows he’s raw and vulnerable, will be for a bit, but it still takes a minute or two to register that the shivers have turned into quiet, soundless sobs. 

He’s crying into Kevin’s shirt. The man in question presses a kiss to Connor’s temple, before changing positions so he’s sitting next to his boyfriend and pulling him into an even tighter hug. 

All Connor can do is hold on for dear life, his hands fisted into the soft cotton of the younger man’s tee, to which Kevin’s feedback is to gently coo and stroke his back and shoulders. 

‘Hey, hey. It’s over, Connor. I’ve got you, just let it all out,’ Kevin murmurs into the fine auburn hair tickling his cheek. 

‘You’re still alive, see? You’re alive, and not crazy, and I’m still here.’

Connor just nods; what follows is a soothing, nearly comfortable silence, with Kevin focusing on nothing but the older man who’s slowly starting to calm down. 

A yawn breaks the moment, alerting Connor to the exhaustion the long day – and the attack, his mind supplies – have left him with. 

‘Come on, let’s go home.’ 

Kevin slowly rises from the ground, extending a hand to help Connor do the same. As they stand, still as close as they were before, they both can’t help but quietly, privately marvel at how intimate the simple act of lending a hand can be, and how much it tells about their relationship. 

‘You’re still shaking, Con,’ keeping his voice low, Kevin gently wipes away the last remnants of tears on Connor’s face; his eyes, however, red-rimmed and a bit watery, still betray what happened. 

‘Is there anything else I can do to make this easier for you?’ 

Oh. Shaking. True. He hadn’t noticed, but now that Kevin has said it out loud, Connor becomes acutely aware of the way the intermittent shivers leave his body still tingling, as if his central nervous system had transformed into a robot’s electrical current. 

‘It’ll stop soon. I’m… vulnerable is probably the best word,’ admitting to it makes Connor feel weak, but Kevin doesn’t judge, merely listens, his eyes open and encouraging.

‘‘It’s been about five, six, maybe seven years since my last panic attack, and even then I didn’t have them all that often, but it feels like anything could trigger me into another one.

‘And… I’m not sure, but I don’t think I can fully trust myself yet. You know that feeling of shutting down, of feeling foreign in your own body? I’ve got a bit of that going on, I think. I’m not sure.’

Saying it out loud Connor realizes how deeply the last, what was it, 30 minutes? how deeply the time since he met his former bishop really affected him. 

His mind is a bit jumbled still, his emotions are all over the shop and interacting with the world, and with actual people, outside of Kevin, outside the safety Kevin’s presence provides, feels like something Connor simply can’t do right now. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to – quite the opposite, Connor cherishes being independent – it’s more the fact that his mind, the rational, intelligent decision-making part of his brain, has shut down as if to protect itself from overheating. 

Overall, in his entirety in the form of a human boy (man, he thinks, although he doesn’t feel very manly right now) the panic has left him tender, like a not-quite-fresh-but-also-not-old wound; the kind that still throbs, softly, but gives you that weird pleasure-pain when you poke it. 

‘Are you implying you don’t feel like you could make rational decisions until you’ve recovered a bit more?’ 

Praise Kevin and his sharp brain, Connor thinks, deciding to simply hum in agreement. 

‘Okay. I, Kevin Price, hereby promise to make sure you, Connor McKinley, don’t just make it home without any further incidents,’ without raising it too much, Kevin manages to change his voice, injecting some exaggerated grandeur that stands reminiscent of his missionary days.

‘But that you will feel cared for and secure in everything you do, from swiping your Metrocard to sitting next to the most handsome ex-Mormon and newly self-appointed Prince Charming in New York City, until you feel up to making your own decisions again.’ 

It’s so sincere and simultaneously so silly, Connor can’t help but laugh a little. 

With all his grand gestures, Kevin looks as if he’s ready to drop onto one knee and pop the question of all questions – and his partner sincerely hopes he doesn’t, because the excitement of such actions would most definitely set him off again. 

Kevin’s face brightens, and a slow smile stretches across his lips. 

‘There’s my favorite laugh!’ 

From then on, the couple don’t need words, not in this weird limbo-like state, between still reeling and having found their footing again, the last hour’s events have left them in. 

Not as they slowly make their way down into the Subway. Not as they board the train, sitting next to each other, for the last few stops. Just existing in the same space, and relying on their intuition and knowledge of each other, is enough. 

There’s a moment where Kevin thinks they probably should have taken an Uber instead of making Connor go back into the Subway (although he was very clear about wanting to do just that, Kevin thinks). 

But as he feels Connor go tense, the younger man lays his hand in the small gap between them, the palm turned up in invitation. 

He’d never admit it, but the moment the former District Leader gently, maybe a bit hesitantly, grasps his hand, loosely linking their fingers, a weight is lifted off Kevin’s heart. They’ll be okay. Connor will be okay. 

He doesn’t let go, not even when they both have to dig for their keys outside their building. Only once the apartment door is shut behind them does Connor slowly unlink their fingers

‘I’m sorry,’ he begins, but Kevin interrupts him with a gentle shushing sound. 

‘No, Kevin, I need to say this.’

He seeks out the younger man’s face, expecting hardened features and disapproval, but all Connor encounters is a pair of open, blue eyes, the brows still knit together in slight worry. 

‘I’m sorry. But also… thank you. For being there, and for being so calm and helping me get out of my own head like you did.’ 

Kevin can’t help but preen a little. 

‘You’re more than welcome. But something’s still nagging you.’ 

At this, Connor goes quiet for a moment. Rationally he knows Kevin won’t leave him over this, but there’s the slightest doubt taunting him. A gentle nudge is the final bit of encouragement. 

‘Come on, I have a suggestion,’ the way Kevin looks at him, Connor knows he’s trying, really trying, to help. And if Kevin Price has set his mind to something, Heavenly Father knows he’ll probably get it done. 

‘Let’s change into something more comfortable. You go and have a shower, if you want, and then we’ll cuddle up on the sofa and see how it all goes from there. 

‘If you want to talk, I’ll listen, but please don’t feel obliged to tell me about something you want to keep for yourself for now. 

‘Sounds good?’ 

Sometimes, Connor doesn’t know how he deserves Kevin by his side. He knows the offer of a shower is more than just that – it’s Kevin giving him a way out, the opportunity to have some time to himself, to organize his thoughts and steel himself for what is undoubtedly going to be one of their tougher conversations. 

‘Perfect.’

There’s that smile on Kevin’s face again, and Connor just has to kiss him, slow and deep and hopefully conveying everything he can’t say just yet. 

Kevin’s hands land on Connor’s shoulders, and as their tongues touch the redhead can’t help himself. Leaning back against the wall, he hooks his fingers into Kevin’s belt loops, tugging him closer just as he feels a hand cradling his chin. 

Kissing, Connor thinks, is a marvelous thing; as they pull apart, the slightly tense atmosphere they brought in with themselves has dissipated in favor of warmth. 

‘Off you go, chop cop chop!’ 

Despite what’s looming on the horizon, Connor chuckles, before heading to the bathroom. 

The shower is, indeed, just what he needed, and standing under the warm water, steam rising and the scent of his shampoo faintly hanging in the air, Connor feels his thoughts calm and his focus return. 

Unsure what to wear, he chucks on the first pair of pajamas he can get his hands on; they’re soft on his heated skin and big enough to slide down, hanging low on slim hips as he pads into the living room. 

On the sofa, Kevin lies sprawled in what Connor can only describe as a nest, reading. The blonde is propped up against one of their pillows, the cushions arranged along the backrest for extra comfort, and the blanket Connor’s grandmother gave them for Christmas is thrown back in invitation. 

As he looks up, Kevin opens his arms, casually throwing his book onto the coffee table. 

‘Care for a cuddle, Mister McKinley?’ 

Smiling, despite the anxiety starting to slowly rear its ugly head again, Connor covers the distance in five, six, seven steps, sliding in between Kevin’s outstretched legs and pulling the blanket up in the process. 

Kevin immediately wraps his arms around Connor’s middle, drawing him back until they’re back to chest, with Connor resting his head in the juncture of Kevin’s neck and shoulder, his eyes closed and their breaths slowly falling into sync.

Minutes pass without any words being said, as the couple just bask in each other’s company. Kevin can feel himself getting fidgety, but he doesn’t want to rush Connor, so he settles on doing something they both enjoy: playing with his partner’s hair. 

At some point, his other hand starts to gently stroke Connor’s belly, and Kevin only barely resists the temptation to dance his fingers over the small strip of white skin exposed between the hem of Connor’s dusty pink sleep shirt and the grey check pants Kevin recognizes as his own. 

A deep, heavy sigh cuts the silence, and Connor thinks if he doesn’t start now, he’ll never speak. 

‘He’s the reason I went to therapy.’ 

Best to be blunt about it, he thinks, and come out with the whole truth. 

‘Come again?’ 

‘Meacham. He’s the reason I went to therapy. Well, part of the reason, but a major one.’ 

Kevin doesn’t know how to react, except to stop stroking in favor of wrapping Connor in another hug. 

‘When the whole… Steve Blade thing happened,’ Kevin tenses at the name, and Connor – slightly placatingly – pats his hands, ‘I was so confused. I was in fifth grade, on a co-ed school, and while my friends were starting to talk about girls, all I could think of was this boy. 

‘So, as you know, I told my parents. And, as you know, their reaction wasn’t the most favorable one.’ 

Like a cat’s purr, Kevin’s hum carries through both their bodies, a pleasantly low rumble.

‘Unfavorable is one word, really. My dad was furious,’ he doesn’t have to spell it out for Kevin to know that Mr McKinley probably didn’t just let words speak. Like so often, what remains unsaid says more than a thousand words ever could.

‘My mum was heartbroken, but determined that – as the Church and plenty of older, ex-gay men said – this was something fixable. Just a momentary confusion, our bishop called it, and he recommended extra study, extra prayer and, well… summer camp, as soon as I was twelve and old enough to go.’ 

‘Summer camp?’ Kevin can’t help interrupting at this point. In his world, camp had been joyful, but the way Connor’s voice drops suggests it was anything but that for the older man. 

‘They call it summer camp, but in reality it’s nothing like the camps you probably went to. 

‘It’s just a fancy word for conversion therapy. Corrective therapy. Pray the gay away. Hit the gay away, sometimes, or electrocute it away.’ 

Slowly, the penny begins to drop; Kevin has a sinking feeling as to where this conversation might be going. 

‘And Meacham was, essentially, my chief therapist.’ 

Another interruption. Kevin feels horrible for it, because this is Connor's time to speak, but he needs clarification. 

‘Did they hurt you?’ 

Connor hesitates for a moment – the silence so heavy with implication Kevin feels a bubble of rage rising – before he continues. 

‘Most of the time they didn’t, no. Once or twice someone’s hand slipped, when I admitted to have had thoughts about the other boys, but mostly it was just psychological cruelty,’ he takes a deep breath as Kevin’s arms tighten, drawing him in just that tiny bit closer.

‘I spent the entire summer in Utah praying. Hearing I was wrong, an abomination, something that needed to be fixed in order to be worthy. The whole Turn It Off-mantra was part of it.

‘And, as said, Meacham was my main therapist. Occasionally, we’d do these weird things where we had to undress and stand inside a circle of other boys, blindfolded,’ he feels Kevin breathe in, as if to say something. 

‘No, he never touched me inappropriately. In fact, from all the people I’ve spoken to, that never happened to any one of us. 

‘But then again, I only did it once or twice, and apparently I was responding well enough because I was “only”,’ uncharacteristically, Connor uses air quotes to emphasize his point, ‘part of the circle, never inside.

‘It was all scripture study, mantras and just being told we were wrong and should confront what might have confused us.’ 

There’s a lull, a pause, as Connor thinks about how to word the next part without being insensitive. 

‘When I arrived back in Cleveland, I had the sunburn from hell but believed I was as straight as they came. Of course the hell dreams hadn’t stopped, not even during camp.’

It’s this point that’s the hard bit, the thing Connor thought he’d be able to keep secret for a long time. Kevin feels the shift and gently nuzzles Connor’s hair in encouragement. 

‘What happened, Con?’ It’s a whisper, but Connor hears every word and suddenly he can’t hold it in anymore. 

‘I knew something was off. I was weepy – weepier than I already am – and irritable and sometimes felt like getting out of bed was impossible, but I forced myself every day. I felt like I was scared all the time, and now I know some of those were panic attacks but I somehow covered up how rubbish I was really feeling.

‘My parents blamed it on puberty and my raging hormones. 

‘Not even my lack of interest for ballet and tap class, which I was literally crazy about before camp, seemed weird to them. When I tried to tell them, they struck it down, telling me nothing was wrong.

‘Until a year later, just after Thanksgiving, I couldn’t do it anymore and tried to kill myself while I was home alone.’ 

At this, Kevin can’t help but gasp, making Connor turn his head. 

‘Sorry. I should’ve told you.’ 

‘No, it’s alright,’ Kevin mumbles. 

‘I see why you wouldn’t. But… what happened then?’ 

‘My mother found me; I thought she’d be out much longer. Cliché, but I was literally lying there surrounded by empty pill bottles. She called an ambulance; I still remember waking up in hospital, in the middle of the night, and just starting to cry. 

‘When the nurse heard me, he immediately called for someone from the mental health team to speak to me. And I spilled everything, every little detail and worry and insecurity I had. All the times I thought about killing myself, that I still felt like suicide would be the only way. 

‘I spent a few days on suicide watch before they diagnosed me. My parents were destroyed, and I just felt really guilty.’ 

‘It’s not your fault, Con.’ 

‘I know, but I still felt bad. It felt like it was my fault, and then I couldn’t even finish it properly.’ 

Unsure what to say, Kevin just hums, disagreement evident in the pitch. Just how do you react if your boyfriend tells you his teenage years had been even worse than you thought? 

‘So, if you don’t mind me asking… what was your diagnosis?’ 

For all the safety not looking at Kevin meant, Connor feels he has to say this to his face. He turns around in Kevin’s arms, resting on his elbows and looking up into what he’s come to regard as the most beautiful pair of eyes he’s ever seen. 

‘Clinical Depression. At first they suspected anxiety disorder as well, but it turned out to just be another symptom. 

‘So they started me on antidepressants, which I will tell you is shit enough in itself,’ Kevin bristles at the cussing, because it’s still so rare for Connor. 

‘And I got therapy, and it helped. A year before my mission started, I was off the medication, and I was genuinely better.’ 

At that, he hides his face against Kevin’s neck, and lets silence descent on the pair. They both need some time to work through this, let it all settle and sink in. 

Kevin’s hands resume stroking, gently drawing circles on Connor’s back while the redhead breathes against Kevin’s skin, trying to get some order into his own jumbled thoughts. 

‘I’m probably really rubbish company tonight, I’m sorry.’ 

One of Kevin’s hands lands back in his hair, starting to massage his scalp. 

‘Nah, you’re not. You’re always good company, even when you’re grumpy, and being vulnerable is just one more side of you. If anything, you sharing this with me, even if it’s not the most joyful of pieces that make up this wonderful, and incredibly cute, guy named Connor McKinley, only makes me love you more.’ 

The warm feeling spreading in Connor’s chest makes him exhale, slowly, and relax even further. Cheesy lines, indeed. He can’t help but love Kevin that tiny bit more for knowing what he needs to hear in this moment.

‘You old charmer.’ 

‘Charmer? I’m being honest,’ there’s a cheeky undertone in Kevin’s voice. 

‘If I wanted to charm you, I’d organize Sutton Foster to hold a private birthday concert in our living room.’ 

At that, they both laugh. There’s no denying that Connor’s a massive fanboy, so much that he had a minor freakout last winter, when Sutton herself walked past them. 

In the end, Kevin had sighed in fond exasperation and walked up to her, asking her for an autograph and – much to his anxious boyfriend’s chagrin – a picture, which she most happily obliged. To this day, Connor was thankful. 

‘As if I was that bad,’ Connor protests.

‘Oh darling you are, but you’re so adorable at the same time.’ 

Kevin grins, and Connor looks into his eyes again while gently stroking his cheek. 

‘I don’t know how I deserve you. But really, I’m sorry, I really am, that you had to see me like this today.’ 

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ Kevin answers immediately. 

‘Yes, there is.’ 

He’s not going to give up this argument, and if he has to talk Kevin into submission, then that’s what Connor will do. Heck, if he'd have to kiss him into submission, he'd do it - not that it's much of a sacrifice. Nothing involving Kevin is a sacrifice for Connor, except maybe sharing a bed when he's got a cold and snores. 

‘I should’ve told you about this, I should’ve warned you, instead of just giving you part of the story. 

‘But I’ll be honest. I haven’t had a panic attack in years. Heck, for all I knew until then, I thought of myself as cured, or whatever passes as such.

‘In reality, I didn’t know what hit me. Usually I cope better, I did learn it in therapy after all, but it came even more out of the blue than my panic attacks already used to do and surprised me and I didn’t know what hit me or what to do or where to go without…’ 

Soft, warm lips interrupt Connor before he can talk himself into another anxiety attack; he kisses Kevin back, unhurried and sweet, before hiding his face in his boyfriend’s shirt again. 

‘Sorry.’

‘Con. Honestly, there’s nothing to be sorry about,’ Kevin’s voice never holds any exasperation, Connor thinks, although he probably is slightly annoyed by now. (Kevin isn't.)

‘And you know how you deserve me?’ 

Now that gets Connors attention up to 110%. He half expects Kevin to brag about how great he is – and he has the full right to do so, because he is an excellent boyfriend – but if he’s learned something, then that former Super Mormon is full of surprises, and that listening to Kevin Price always pays off.

Yet he can’t keep his doubts at bay. 

‘Do I, though?’ 

‘Yes, you do, Connor. Because, and you may not believe this, at least not all the time, you deserve to be happy.’

Once more, Kevin’s hand runs into copper curls, drawing Connor in closer until their lips nearly touch. 

‘And because I love you, and if this makes you just an inch as happy as it makes me, it’s still nowhere near enough to repay you for all the shit that’s happened.’ 

With that, Kevin crashed their lips together. It’s messy and desperate and so, so good, and it only softens after Connor makes sound in the back of his throat Kevin interprets as protest. 

When they break apart, Connor looks at Kevin, really looks, before wordlessly shuffling down, tucking his head under Kevin’s chin in the way he knows they both love. 

‘I love you, too, Kevin.’

A pause, just a beat. 

‘And thank you. For everything. You may have just saved my life today.’ 

Strong arms envelop him once more, making Connor feel safe and loved and cherished. And as he lies there, just feeling Kevin, reflecting on the day, he knows one thing for sure. 

The past may have been shit, but with Kevin by his side, the future can only be better. Even if his depression should come back (which Connor is sure it will). Even if today was one of the worst days he’s had in years. Even if he embarrassed himself by having a panic attack-induced meltdown in the middle of New York City. 

Even after all of this, Kevin Price said - or indicated - he'd always want to be at Connor's side. Always. He'd kissed him like he meant it, too. 

Maybe it’s time to propose, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've come this far: thank you for reading!  
> If you gave up and just skipped to my notes: thank you for reading, please let me know where you stopped. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Of course, everyone's experiences are different. Everything in this fic is based off my own experiences or stories from friends/family diagnosed with (mainly) depression. I'm not diagnosed with anything (although depression runs in my family, so my chances are infinitely higher, apparently), but I've had more than one panic attack, which is what I based a majority of Connor's attack on. 
> 
> I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry it's so angsty. I don't know how it happened, but I hope I ended on a positive note, although I'm really not sure about the end. 
> 
> Finally, thank you so much (again!) for reading this.


End file.
